The heart, the heart,

still water in a cauldron
trying to stir, to stir,
make it foam and rush
bubble the sides to boil and brim
and spill 
an urgent force,
a potion to use
enthusing energy 
and strength enough to
turn grey eyes blue
and restless as bright seas, 
turn ivory skin 
flushed and fuschia
with warm coursing,
impulsive heat 
pulsing arm and hand
to feats of energy
and progress -
the heart, the heart,
the stale mess must be stirred
and live.

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